


Snowblind

by Nekotsuki



Category: Rurouni Kenshin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 16:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekotsuki/pseuds/Nekotsuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two rivals, intent on killing each other. One way home. More than one small problem ... [Bakumatsu fic]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm basically transferring my entire ff.net profile over here bit by bit and hoping that rereading my work also makes my muse wake up. If you enjoy this and you're too impatient to wait for more, there's another seven chapters over at the Pit under the same penname.

Snow touched everything in pristine white.

It dusted across the bare-branched trees and collected in the hollows of the landscape, undisturbed by the passage of human travel. There had been a flurry of snowfall earlier, but the heavy clouds had moved away to the east, leaving the winter sun to cast its weaker warmth and light across the ground and flare the pale blanket of snow to blinding. A glaring white, broken only by the edge of outcropping rock and the dubious shelter of close-knit trees. Broken by the river, a wide expanse of murky grey moving sluggishly along its course, cold enough that a thin layer of ice collected on the smaller pools and rivulets that diverted away from the main body of water.

Broken by the small figure sprawled by the water's edge in drenched blue and grey, trailing ponytail a streak of fiery red against the snow, shoulders shaking in a spasm of coughing. The river was cold enough to steal a man's breath away.

He still held the katana in a death grip, knuckles white on the sheath as he finally rolled onto his back and stared blindly up at the sky, breathing hard despite the sear of the cold in his throat. The wakizashi was gone, although its sheath was still tangled at his belt, caught within the soaked folds of his hakama. For a moment he tried to piece together how he'd lost the sword and not the sheath, and then recalled what he'd been doing, before he fell.

Himura Kenshin, known as the hitokiri Battousai to most and Himura to a rare few, blinked in the weak sunlight and found the energy to scowl.

This had not been a good day.

He took a breath and sat up; took another, and shot to his feet as the urgency of the situation became apparent. He was uninjured apart from mild bruising, but soaked to the skin – in winter, when the events of the morning had driven him far from any landmark he recognised. His pack was lost to the water. He had nothing but the clothes on his back and the sheathed katana in his hand. And …

… he wasn't alone.

Ki flared on the edge of his senses; hostile, angry and familiar. He froze into stillness, half expecting an attack despite the distance between them. His hand curled on the hilt as he turned a careful circle, surveying the landscape, looking for others that he might have overlooked, given the feral brilliance of the man's spirit. But there was no-one … and to his surprise, the ki flickered and ebbed away almost immediately.

Nevertheless, he knew that he was not the only one to escape the pull of the river. Kenshin spun on his heel as he ran slender fingers through wet bangs to pull them away from his eyes, before he settled his hand once more on the hilt of the katana. He was forced to jerk the sword free, flicking a spatter of water across the ground from the waterlogged sheath as he drew.

The river. Downstream, further still. He moved swiftly, mindful of the chill of waterlogged clothing as it began to seep more insidiously into his flesh. Yet the danger this would bring to his health was a distant second to building a fire with such a powerful enemy at his back.

In this way, moving swiftly through the snow with his sword drawn, drenched clothing close to his skin and the trailing wet ends of his fiery topknot clinging to the curve of his neck, Himura Kenshin came across the man he was hunting for.

The blue and white haori was torn; had caught on something in the water. The long, clean tear across the shoulder was visible, still seeping red through the cloth of his uniform – a wound Kenshin had managed to give him, before the end – yet, this shouldn't have been enough to put the wolf down. For a man with such presence of mind and disciplined skill with the sword to drag himself half from the water before collapsing face down in the snow … something else had to be amiss.

The hitokiri reached out one foot carefully and prodded the unconscious form in the wounded shoulder, searching for a reaction. At the lack of response, he crouched down, the tip of his sword embedded in the snow, his hand still on the hilt. He reached out with his free arm and took hold of the haori, pulling the man onto his back. And found the reason for his fall. A shallow, jagged cut by the hairline under the trailing wisps of dark hair, swollen with bruising.

His journey through the river to this place had been far rougher than Kenshin's own; but then, the Shinsengumi captain had entered the water already wounded. For the wolf to have taken a head injury and still manage to pull himself from the river showed a remarkable strength of will; the wound itself wasn't serious, but he was willing to bet the man was concussed. Not that it truly mattered. Once he awoke, Saitou Hajime would no doubt stand, search him out wherever he had gone to ground, and attempt to finish what he'd started.

With that in mind, Kenshin rose to his feet, emotion shuttered away behind the blank mask of the hitokiri. Lifting the tip of the sword from its resting place, he reversed his grip and brought the edge of the katana to the wolf's throat.


	2. Chapter 2

The world was silent around them, apart from the quiet sounds of the river.  The clear blue sky only served to make the air seem more bitterly cold.  For now, Kenshin paid it no mind, focused only on the problem before him.

Saito Hajime.  A man of more than passing familiarity to him – the Captain of the third Shinsengumi squad, and one of the most skilled swordsmen ever to cross his path.  Walking away now – turning his back on such an enemy, in this unfamiliar landscape – would be the height of idiocy.  A killer Kenshin might be, but no one had ever accused him of being stupid.

The sword pressed down sharply enough across the throat to draw blood; a line of crimson welled along the fine edge of the metal before tracing a slow path down the crease between neck and shoulder.  He expected those narrow eyes to spring open at the touch of the katana.  The man on the ground was oblivious. 

He was quiet a long moment, blade held suspended in the fine moment between strike and lethal impact, watching the trickle of blood mix with the snow.  He wondered why he was hesitating.  Were the roles reversed, Kenshin would be dead already.  Best to push the sword down; slice into the jugular, let the man bleed out painlessly.  Unconscious, Saito would feel nothing—

His fingers clenched on the hilt as he sucked in a breath, eyes wide for a brief second as reality caught up to him.  With adrenalin focused on his own survival and the completion of his charged mission, he hadn’t even thought twice about what had to be done here.  His days as Katsura’s assassin were over.   His battles were now on the street, protecting Choshu’s soldiers; that he would come so close to slaughtering a downed and helpless opponent so easily – even if that opponent was a mortal enemy – seemed a breach of the unspoken promise he'd made to _her…_

…that until the war was truly over and Katsura had released him from his service, he would avoid unnecessary killing.

In the end, it was the near-forgotten bite of the wind that fully decided for him. The sudden gust that pressed the sodden blue gi to Kenshin’s back sent a violent shiver down his spine.  Instinct and a care uncommon to his reputation made him pull his hand back, before the resultant cold shudder along his arm accidentally killed the prone man at his feet.

There were more important things for him to worry about.  He took a moment to wipe the blood from his blade, sliding it home into the sheath with a rasping sound that made him wince.  His sword needed caring for - a second priority, greatly overshadowed by the need to get dry before the chill sank too far into his bones.  He turned, hunched against the wind, making for the shelter of the trees.  The chance of finding wood dry enough for a campfire was small, but he had to try. 

Saito … would just have to wait for another time.  The wolf might come after him, but at least Kenshin would be prepared for it.  Then again, Saito might be too preoccupied with looking after his own injuries and getting back to the remnants of his squad.  The wound across his shoulder would need treating; before Saito searched the landscape to see if his prey had survived the river, he would almost certainly—

—freeze to death in a drenched uniform, without the benefit of being awake to take care of himself.

Kenshin stood there a long moment in the snow, the dread of realisation settling over him.  Then, with a faint curse, he spun on his heel and stalked back to the riverbank. 

He was sure.  Somewhere, the gods were laughing at him.

 ---------

  _“Can you do this?”_

_He blinked, caught off guard.  Katsura gazed back at him gravely, hand still on the shoji.  They were alone. The echo of footsteps had long faded away from the corridor outside; the chance that either of them would be overheard was minor.  Despite this, the Choshu clan leader’s voice was very soft.  “Given the timing, I understand it could be … difficult for you.”_

_It was an insight sharp enough to hurt on its own. He hadn’t expected Katsura to be so observant.  Kenshin met the man’s dark gaze for a moment – read the faint touch of concern there – and turned away with a slight nod, veiling his own discomfort behind a flat expression.  When it was clear that his superior was expecting a more detailed answer, he added softly, “I need to escort a man.  What else?”_

_There was a quiet sigh in response.  Katsura would be frustrated by his avoidance of the subject, but at least on this one issue, Kenshin knew he would not be pushed.  Instead, Katsura’s next words were even and dipped in formal clarity, a further explanation of his mission._

_"Tsuji Yamashita has petitioned us through his cousin Daisuke, as you are aware.  In exchange for whatever information and assistance he can give to the Ishin Shishi, Yamashita has requested that we protect him from the inevitable backlash of defection from his current allegiance—“_

_"He wants to run and needs your help to do it,” Kenshin said plainly.  At Katsura’s dry nod, he finally glanced up.  “With respect, Katsura-san, that seems … odd.”_

  _“I am not sure of his reasons, but I trust Daisuke.” Katsura met his gaze.  “I do not believe this is a trick.”_

_He considered that trust; wondered who Yamashita was, that Katsura would pull him from his current duty to escort a runaway to safety.  Given his skills, he could assume at least one reason he had been chosen for this assignment.  “You want this to remain quiet.”_

  _“As much as possible,” Katsura agreed.  “I don’t believe we can keep this a secret, but the longer his defection remains undisclosed, the more use his information will be.  We would have better luck smuggling him out of Kyoto with as small an escort as possible.”_

_“I’m to work alone, then.”_

_“Aa.  Much easier, given the circumstances.  If I send a group, I run the risk of drawing too much attention almost immediately.  But one man alone …”_

_Despite the explanation, it still seemed far too simple a mission to require his skill.  Curiosity prompted him to venture his thoughts.  “I will do as you request, Katsura-san.  But … others may be just as efficient for such escort duty.”_

_“Not in this case,” Katsura said mildly.  “Another escort may have difficulty in dealing with the wolves that follow.”_

_He blinked again at that.  “Wolves?”  Surely, he didn’t mean—_

  _“Yamashita is Shinsengumi.  Third division.  Answerable to Saito Hajime himself.”_

 ---------

He dealt with the swords first.  Carefully unhooking both katana and wakizashi from Saito’s belt, Kenshin hesitated.  Common sense told him the best solution was to just throw them both in the river.  He glanced from the swords to their wielder and sighed; compromising, he wedged the daisho carefully between two rocks by the river’s edge before returning for the crumpled figure in the snow.

Saito was _heavy –_ with the waterlogged clothing weighing him down, even more so.  He slung one blue and white clad arm over his slender shoulders and concentrated on dragging the man up the bank toward the shelter of the trees.  At least the snowfall wasn’t particularly deep.  Trying to keep hold of Saito’s wrist was an effort in itself.  There was no warmth clinging to either of them, and attempting to make his fingers work past encroaching numbness was fast becoming a daunting task.  Kenshin clenched his teeth against the cold and stumbled onward, hauling his unwanted burden with as much grace as he could manage. 

Which, given the circumstances, wasn’t a great deal.  Aside from his increasing lack of coordination - his muscles rigidly locked in an attempt to stop shivering – the absurdity of his actions was giving rise to the faint simmer of resentment.  Attempting to save the life of a man who - less than an hour ago - he’d been desperately trying to kill was nothing short of suicidal.  Katsura … if Katsura knew what he was doing …

_Katsura would not expect me to murder a helpless man.  Not now.  Not after—_

He stopped, Saito almost sliding to the ground as the wolf’s arm slipped through his suddenly nerveless grasp.  Reflex, born from the sudden recollection of the last person he’d carried through the winter cold.   It was an unwelcome memory, given the sight of the trees before him, branches creaking under the weight of the morning snowfall.  It was an image all too familiar to the quiet recesses of his mind. 

After a moment, he curled fingers he could not feel around the sinewed curve of Saito’s wrist, adjusted his balance and continued on doggedly.   Attempting to dredge up half-forgotten memories of lessons in wood lore from his years with Hiko distracted him from darker thoughts. The trees would provide a reasonable wind break and hopefully shelter from further snow, both of which he would need if his fire-building attempts were going to succeed. 

By the time Kenshin passed beneath the first branches, he could no longer control the shaking that racked his body.  Teeth clenched to prevent them from chattering, he drew them both as far into the trees as he dared and let Saito drop to the ground before the man’s weight could unbalance him enough to send him toppling face first into the snow.  He didn’t have the luxury of searching for a more sheltered campsite – what time he had was running out.  He lifted trembling fingers to the front of his sodden gi and yukata, yanking them awkwardly down from his shoulders to expose bare flesh to the elements, trying not to gasp at the increased sensation of chill.  The air almost seemed to burn against his skin.   He tried to ignore it - in the end, stripping away a layer of clothing was less harmful to his health than leaving his sopping wet gi time to leech away what little body heat he had left.   

He did the same for Saito, pulling the Shinsengumi uniform away from the wolf’s body and leaving it piled in the snow beside him.  Then, wrapping one hand around the lacquered sheath of his katana in a death grip, Kenshin took uneven steps away into the trees in search of firewood.

\--------

_“The Shinsengumi look after their own, Himura.  In all possible ways.”  Katsura was watching him carefully.  “Whatever reason Yamashita has decided to run, they’ll be on his trail the moment they notice he’s gone.”_

_At Kenshin’s silence, he continued softly.  “Preferably, this will not be a situation in which you have to kill. If you are fast enough, you can be halfway to safety before they realise what has happened.  I highly doubt that they will expect one of their own members to be dragged across country by one of ours.”_

_Kenshin almost smiled, though there was no great humour to his thoughts. Yes, he imagined the Shinsengumi_ would _be shocked to find one of their own in the company of the hitokiri Battousai.  Once a man joined with the Shinsengumi, the only accepted way to leave was for him to commit seppuku.  Yamashita was not only breaking ranks with sworn and honourable allies; he was selling them out to the enemy just to avoid the repercussions.  It was a thought that didn’t sit well.  If Yamashita was cowardly enough to carry out such an act, there was nothing to stop him from attempting the same to the Ishin Shishi at a later date._

_“He’s a traitor,” he said quietly._

_“Then that is to our benefit.”  Katsura’s voice was low and even._

_After a moment, Kenshin nodded.  Judging from his tone, Katsura was already aware of his misgivings, and was wise enough to take precautions.  He held his peace and waited._

_“Whether or not his offer of information is of any good to us – and I dare say at least part of it will be redundant once it is clear that he has defected – I owe a debt to Daisuke,” Katsura continued.   “This is worth the risk.  Will you do it?”_

_“Hai, Katsura-san.”_

_Katsura inclined his head at that soft acceptance, saying nothing.  Kenshin took it as dismissal and rose to his feet, sword in hand, sketching a slight bow before padding silently to the shoji and sliding it open._

_“Himura.”_

_He paused at the doorway, staring out into the darkened hallway.  There was an odd note to Katsura’s voice that he couldn’t place, at first.  Kenshin closed his eyes briefly._

_“I will leave at first light,” he said without turning. “If all goes well, I will be back at your side before the new year.”_

_The scrape of the shoji being drawn shut masked the faint sigh of the man he was leaving behind._

\---------

Usable wood was relatively easy to find; dry kindling he managed to collect by paring the bark from a nearby tree and pulling away the drier, fibrous underside.  His hands were refusing to work properly.  With fingers that seemed eerily large and clumsy, Kenshin fumbled with smaller twigs to create the friction needed to set the kindling alight.  It was an agonisingly long process.  When the first tendril of smoke drifted up to his face, he breathed a sigh of relief. 

He nursed the fire through its first hesitant moments, watching it like a hawk, determined to ensure that it continued to burn.  Without a source of heat, they would both be dead before nightfall.  When finally the flames seemed steady enough, he built the fire as high as he dared.  The heat was both welcome and discomfiting, prickling painfully across exposed skin.  Kenshin took a moment to warm himself anyway, hoping for more feeling in his hands before he moved to divest Saito of the rest of his uniform.

The sword wound across Saito’s shoulder had long since ceased to bleed. Kenshin wondered if that was due to the cold.  The cut was not a lethal one - it would need binding, but he doubted the wisdom of attempting to wrap soaking cloth around the injury.   Instead, he wrapped his arms around the other man’s chest and dragged him closer to the fire, setting him down across the remainder of the wood that he hadn’t fed to the flames.  It was hardly a comfortable bed, but the hard branches were infinitely preferable to laying the man back on the snow without any kind of protection.  He resisted the urge to cut through the sodden knots of Saito’s hakama, instead taking the time needed to pull the ties free with his fingers.  The hakama would be no good if Saito could not tie them back on again once dry.

The irony of what he was doing crossed his mind once again, and he shook his head wearily to clear it, wincing as he gathered up the blue and white haori in his hands, taking a few steps away from the fire.  The wet fabric was so cold he wondered if it hadn’t frozen in places.  Quite possibly it had; he remembered the state of the more sluggish pools by the river, small and still enough to be coated in ice.  Kenshin knotted both hands in the collar and swung the haori around, slamming it into the nearest tree trunk as hard as he could.  He swung it twice more, showering droplets of frigid water into the snow, before he gritted his teeth and wrung it out further by hand. 

He did the same for the rest of Saito’s uniform, stretching it out to dry before setting the katana down and peeling his own clothing away to repeat the process.  His hakama needed to dry, and his bare flesh needed the warmer air before it sustained serious damage, but that knowledge didn’t stop the feeling of vulnerability that crept over him.  He had no choice; the heat of the fire would help, but it didn’t solve the problem.  If he couldn’t get their clothing reasonably dry by the time weather conditions changed for the worse, the meagre protection of the flames would be worthless.

They would need more firewood eventually. Something would also have to be done about food, but he was not about to stumble back out in search of it now.  He was still far too cold, and the thought of leaving the warmth of the fire was one he was no longer willing to deal with.  Kenshin sank down to the base of a tree beside his sword, across the fire from Saito.  Balanced precariously along the tree’s exposed roots, he hunched his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, wincing at the worsening ache of his muscles.  The constant shivering was taking its toll. 

Saito showed no immediate signs of awakening.  Force of habit urged him to reach down and retain a grip on his sword anyway, careful to keep the hilt from touching his skin.  Not for the first time, he wondered what would happen when the Shinsengumi captain finally revived and realised where he was. 

Kenshin stayed curled where he was, balanced miserably between the brittle warmth of the fire and the doubtful shelter of the tree at his back, staring at the clothing hanging over one of the bare branches and willing it to dry faster.

After a while, he closed his eyes.

He wondered with a certain grim amusement if his last words to Katsura had cursed him.  Certainly, things were far from ‘going well’.  He wasn’t sure how far downriver the two of them had been swept, but it was far enough that he hadn’t seen any sign of the path he’d been travelling to get to the pass.  They hadn’t been the only ones, either- with a vague chill of unease, he wondered whether other members of Saito’s squad had pulled themselves from the river further upstream.   If that was the case, the two of them would probably be hunted; he couldn’t see the third unit returning to Kyoto without finding out what had happened to their captain. 

Regardless of possible interference from the Shinsengumi, he knew that the chances of him returning to Kyoto before the end of the year were now nonexistent.  In other circumstances, the revelation would have distressed him more. Now, hunched shivering by the fire and playing a deadly waiting game with the cold, the best he could manage was faint dread. 

Six days.  The first anniversary of her death, stranded with the enemy in the familiar and hated snow.

Kenshin dozed.

He did not intend to. More lucidly, he would have realised that the constant shivering and abuse of his muscles had exhausted him to the point that he had little choice.  He dreamed, half-formed images of kites and a garden of water-damaged daikon; of dark, fathomless eyes and blood on the snow, interspersed with the crackle of the fire and the vague notion that his clothes should be dry, and the curl of fingers ever-loosening on the sheath of his katana.  A smaller voice in his mind noted that he hadn’t done anything about the state of his sword.  The trip through the river had flooded the inside of the sheath with water and dirt.  He tried to fight his way back up from heavy drowsiness, taking hold of the hilt gingerly in an attempt to pull it free. 

It was all he managed before he sank fully into sleep, lulled by flames and a sense of warmth that should not have existed settling into his bones.  He stayed nestled against the tree, relaxing despite the cold at his back, knees pulled close against him with his hands curled loosely on hilt and sheath, katana partly drawn.

The small, warning flare of awareness at the sudden movement by the fire failed to wake him completely; however, the pull of his swordsman’s instincts was enough that Kenshin’s eyes drifted open hazily, attempting to focus past the fire to the scattered wood on the ground.  Saito was no longer there.  The sword had fallen from his grasp.  He snatched for it, too late.  The jarring sound of his katana being drawn fully from its sheath by another pair of hands drew his gaze up to meet a pair of vaguely bemused amber eyes. 

“I’m not even going to ask what you think you’re doing, Battousai,” Saito drawled, levelling Kenshin’s own blade at his throat.  “But you _are_ going to tell me what you’ve done with my swords.”


	3. Fire and Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saito and Kenshin have a small discussion about death, duty, and the joys of being naked in the snow. Also, Kenshin wants his sword back. Now.

Saito was clearly not functioning at his best.  There was still an unfocused look to his eyes that told of lingering effects from the head wound, and the smear of crimson on his shoulder showed that the deep gash dealt to him earlier had begun to bleed again.  Combined with the lingering effects of the cold, Kenshin doubted the man felt much better than _he_ did, if at all. 

His aim was no less efficient with the sword, however. 

Kenshin pressed back against the tree to avoid the touch of the blade at his throat, meeting the wolf’s gaze with a hostile stare of his own.  Cold and fatigue aside, falling asleep had been a very bad move; possibly one he wouldn’t be able to recover from.  Yet Saito didn’t seem inclined to kill him immediately.  In fact, if pressed to describe the expression on the other man’s face, Kenshin would say that Saito merely looked … irritated. 

He kept his words soft and even, glancing briefly at the mottled steel.  “If I tell you where your swords are, will you return mine?”

Saito kept his silence and smirked.  It was a smile, lazily amused, that didn’t reach to his eyes. 

“Then you can find them on your own,” Kenshin said flatly. 

He found himself strangely uncaring at the thought of potential death, although a smaller, more rational part of his mind noted that his lassitude had more to do with the far-reaching effects of the cold.  The chance that he could avoid the strike if Saito chose to kill him now, after all, was small - hours of hunched and fitful sleeping had done nothing to improve the pain of cramped muscles. 

Ingrained instinct prompted him to try.  He tensed as the flicker of irritation in the wolf’s amber eyes flared briefly into cool anger, long fingers clenching on the hilt of Kenshin’s sword.

It took him by surprise, then, when Saito casually took a step backward and sheathed his stolen blade with practiced ease.  Kenshin watched in bafflement as the man turned on his heel to stalk toward the clothing draped nearby, ignoring him entirely, and ran a measuring hand over the fabric of his haori before yanking it from the branch impatiently, shrugging it over his shoulders.

Apparently Saito had no intention of killing him; at least, not this evening.  _Or,_ Kenshin thought dourly, _not before he’s fully dressed._   He began the process of stretching his limbs out, wincing at the stiffness of his joints, not moving from his perch on the tree roots.  His body protested the act, and he resisted the urge to curl back into a ball to conserve warmth.  With Saito awake – not to mention in possession of the only sword at the campsite - he needed to encourage as much flexibility back into his muscles as he could manage. 

“Here.”

He looked up at the sound and started as Saito casually threw the navy gi at him, hand reaching out to catch the bundle before it could hit him in the face.  The cloth was cold.  Kenshin blinked.  He’d thought of several scenarios that might occur once Saito regained consciousness.  Helping him get dressed was not one of them.  In bewilderment, he could think of only one thing to say.  “It’s not dry.”

“It’s not wet, either,” Saito said absently.  “Body heat will do the rest.  Stay close to the fire.”

He narrowed his eyes, watching the other man as Saito glanced down at his haori, gave a sigh and gingerly eased his arms through the sleeves.  Kenshin glanced down at the navy blue gi bunched in his hands.  Saito was right; there was no dampness to his gi, but a frozen chill that made him skeptical of trying the same.  A small, childish thought surfaced that maybe Saito was trying to trick him into freezing to death.  He quashed it with irritation.

“It’s getting dark,” Saito pointed out with a hint of impatience.  “Or didn’t you notice you’ve slept the afternoon away?  You’ll need the protection.” 

Kenshin stared at him suspiciously.

Saito’s smile was indulgent.  “Unless, of course, you’d rather remain like _that_ in my company?”

Kenshin shook out his gi with such violence that the cloth almost made an audible snap as it unfurled.  He yanked it roughly over his shoulders, almost oblivious to the intense cold that settled across his skin, biting down on the insult that sprang to mind at the other man’s caustic sense of humour. 

Saito had already turned away from him to begin the task of building up the fire.

\---------

The wolf had been right, on both counts.  Somewhere during his fitful dreams and attempts to stay warm, nightfall had crept up on them both.  By the time Saito finished easing half of the remaining wood into the struggling warmth of the fire, the sky had turned black, stars hidden by either the pluming smoke or cloud cover.  Kenshin cursed himself again for the foolish lapse and fervently hoped that it would not snow.

The rest of his clothing was still damp, but the gi – once caught between the retained warmth of his body and the heat of the flames – became tolerable after a few minutes.  The navy cloth came to just below his knees.  He wrapped it around him tightly, for both protection and decency, and huddled close to the fire. 

The katana caught and held the firelight, glittering bright gold along the blade, the pattern broken only by the folded cloth Saito was using to clean it.  The other man leaned against a tree, his faint slouch the only indication that he wasn’t feeling well.  He cleaned the river muck from Kenshin’s sword in silence.  Neither of them had said a word in some time.

Kenshin couldn’t fathom why Saito had left him alive.  Recompense for saving his life?  It was a possibility, but they were on opposing sides of war.  In such a situation as this, letting the hitokiri Battousai walk away would betray everything Saito stood for, and a Shinsengumi member would not go so far, let alone one of their captains. 

_Then again, I haven’t tried just ‘walking away’._ He scowled faintly; running half-dressed into the snow without a sword wouldn’t be any better.    Perhaps Saito only wanted to know what had happened to his daisho.  The idea sounded amusing, but it wasn’t so farfetched—

“This sword is filthy.  Don’t you know how to look after your steel?”

Kenshin immediately snapped upright to meet his gaze, eyes narrow and cold.  “If it bothers you so much, give it back.”

“It’s a fine weapon, beneath the muck.  I think I’ll keep it.” Saito sounded amused. “Don’t give me that face.  You took mine first, and I have better things to do than fight over who gets to carry the sword.  Accept things the way they are.”

Kenshin glared. 

“You’re as petulant as a child.”  Saito sheathed the clean blade with a casual flick of his wrist, before glancing at him curiously.  “Hn. How old _are_ you?”

Kenshin blinked, taken aback.  “What difference does it make?”

“None.  I suppose a boy can become a killer at any age.”  

The words stung, although he supposed they shouldn’t after all this time.  He chose to keep his silence and returned his gaze to the fire.  If he was very lucky, Saito would take the hint and do the same.

“I have to wonder why,” Saito said calmly, “after killing four of my men on that bridge, you decided not to do the same for me.”

A question, carefully worded and neutral, which nevertheless made Kenshin flinch inwardly.   Saito had lost allies this morning, and quite possibly friends as well.  That they’d died in the line of duty in an attempt to prevent Kenshin from fulfilling his own … was probably the only reason Saito could sit at the fire merely cleaning a sword, instead of using it to avenge their deaths.  It was something Kenshin had no doubt that the wolf would do eventually anyway, but he suspected Saito would make sure they were both armed first.  _Duty. Is that why he wants his swords so badly?_  He stilled his features to calm as he glanced up, choosing to avoid the question.  “I thought you weren’t going to ask.”

“I’m warmer now, and you’re not going anywhere.” Saito closed his eyes, relaxing against the tree bark as if Kenshin posed no threat whatsoever.  “Unless you plan to spend your night glaring at me, you may as well explain yourself.”

“What makes you think I’m not going anywhere?” he asked warily.

“Because you’ll be dead by your own blade before you take three steps.” The threat was casual, delivered with an almost pleasant air.  Saito opened an eye to peer at him lazily.  “I’m not so stupid as to leave such an enemy at my back.  You will stay where I can see you.”

He bridled at the words.  It didn’t help that Saito was right.  The wolf might have a head injury, but Kenshin had legs that were still trying to regain feeling after being cramped so long, and Saito had already proven he could move more swiftly at the moment.  He clenched his fingers together to test feeling, eyes wandering across the splintered remnants of the firewood and the snow beyond, expression bleak.  The night promised to be long.

“What did you have to gain by pulling me from the river, Battousai?”

“Nothing,” he said flatly.

“No?” Saito smirked.  “I thought perhaps you were going to try taking me _hostage_ or something.  That would have been interesting.”

Kenshin narrowed his eyes.  “You’re mocking me.”

“I have nothing better to do.”

Irritation sparked into offense.  “Think of something,” he snapped.

“I can mock you or I can satisfy my curiosity. Which is it?”

Kenshin took a breath, letting it hiss between his teeth before he chose to answer, holding onto his calm.  “The danger was past.  There was no point killing you.”

“I am your enemy; there was every point,” Saito corrected, voice sharp.  “If our roles had been reversed, I would have had no hesitation.”

“I’m not you.”

The smirk widened, taking on a nasty edge.  “No, I suppose not, _hitokiri.”_

Stung, he retreated into stiff silence, reaching forward carefully to ease more wood into the fire.  He distracted himself from darker thoughts by considering the subtle falsehood in Saito’s declaration. Armed with the only sword at the campsite with an enemy at his mercy, the wolf was not only hesitating, but helping to ensure his continued survival throughout the night.  Yet he was certain that if Saito had been the one to find _him,_ Kenshin would never have woken to feel the cold.  It was an anomaly that baffled him.  Perhaps he was misjudging, and Saito _did_ feel obliged to return the favour.  He supposed he would find out soon enough. 

“So the ‘danger was past’,” Saito mused.  “That’s an interesting way of putting it.  I assume you’re referring to our pursuit of Tsuji Yamashita?  Odd that you should put a coward’s life above your own.”

He kept his silence.  If he didn’t _say_ anything, Kenshin reasoned, Saito would eventually tire of teasing him and leave him be.

“You don’t say much.  Is that a job requirement?”

_Then again …_ He fixed Saito with a level stare.  “It was my duty.”

“I see.  Your duty.  To escort him to safety?”

“Aa.”

“You’re failing dismally.”

“The bridge is down,” Kenshin retorted coldly.  “By the time anyone is able to cross the river, Yamashita will have reached safe haven.”

“That’s if the coward can find it within himself to travel all on his own.”

“He will.”

“So sure?”

He spoke softly.  “Yamashita is no coward.”

“He fled the Shinsengumi,” Saito replied, voice abrupt.  “He sought our enemy’s protection to do it.  How is he not a coward?”

 That was a valid question, at least; one that Kenshin would try to answer, given the opinion that he’d ventured to Katsura several days ago.  He searched for the best way to explain.  “He made a choice that he regretted.  He is young and foolish and frightened.”He hesitated, before adding quietly, “Fright, by itself, does not make one a coward.”

“You almost sound as if you like him.”

_Like?_   Too strong a word.  He wasn’t one for making friends. Even if there had been different circumstances to his life, he suspected Yamashita would have jarred on his nerves.  He opened his mouth to say as much, and then shut it again.  Saito didn’t deserve to know his own personal feelings.

Apparently, Saito took his silence as an answer in itself, smile widening into outright derision. “I see.  Perhaps he aroused your motherly instincts?”

Kenshin gave him a fierce look.  “Don’t you have anything better to do than mock me?”

“I can think of several options, actually.” His voice was cool.  “You wouldn’t like those, either.”

There was malice in those amber eyes; a desire for retribution kept carefully in check.  Saito had no newfound mercy or compassion for his enemy. The wolf’s desire to kill him was plain to see, and yet he kept the fire between them and ridiculed him instead.  Why he didn’t act on his first impulse was still unclear, but Kenshin wondered just how much of the mockery was born from Saito’s frustration at the situation. 

He’d killed four men this morning, maybe more in the river, and then had the gall to save their captain’s life.  The deaths had not been forgotten.  For the first time he paused to reflect on how Saito must have felt, waking up next to the warmth of a fire his murdering enemy had built.  Kenshin considered that, considered his own actions, and felt a sense of the surreal wash over him.  Saito was deriding him because he was still trying to gain back his sure footing; sitting at a campfire together was a situation that neither of them could have ever conceived of, before this.

They were hitokiri and wolf, and their entire existence together should have been trying to kill each other in the streets of Kyoto. 

At the very least he supposed he could try to explain the situation more fully.  As Yamashita’s commanding officer, Saito deserved that much.  Kenshin took a breath and matched Saito’s stare levelly.  “For choosing to leave the way he did, Yamashita lacks honour.”

“Ah?  So.” Saito’s eyebrows lifted. “Not something I would expect to hear from you.”

“However—“

“However?”

Kenshin searched for the words, suddenly uncomfortable under his scrutiny.  He was not used to having to explain.“Yamashita was not prepared for life with the Shinsengumi.  Not after … scenes he witnessed.”

“He told you, did he?” Saito said softly.

“Aa.”

There was a long silence.  Kenshin refused to break it, and instead returned his gaze to the fire.  The silence was relieving; not because he was no longer being insulted, but because it implied that Saito, at least, had not taken Yamashita’s situation lightly.  He waited.

“We had no choice,” Saito said at last.  “She was a spy.”

The words were so carefully neutral that Kenshin gave a small sigh.  “I understand.”

“ _He_ did not.”

“Do you blame him?”  The question was genuinely curious.

“No, I suppose not,” Saito mused.  “But it does not change the fact that he betrayed us.”

“No.”  Kenshin replied softly.  “But he is young.  He fled that which he could not deal with.  I understand that.”

“Yes, well.”  There was a faint snort.  “I hope you haven’t become too fond of him.  You can’t possibly believe he’ll live long.” 

“You won’t reach him before he makes it.”

“What makes you think _we’ll_ be the ones to kill him?”

Kenshin glanced up sharply at that.   “What?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know what will happen.”  Saito gave him a level stare.  “You’re escorting a known traitor to the enemy.  I can only assume you’re helping him because he has offered something.  Did he promise information?”

A small chill traveled along his spine that had nothing to do with the cold.  Kenshin stared back, suddenly uneasy.  “What are you trying to say?” 

“As I hear it,” Saito said casually, “The Choshu clan has had difficulty with traitors of late.”

The words cut far too close to home, invoking memories of the smiling, weasel of a man who had praised his killing technique.  _You don’t even give them time to scream any more._ He barely masked the hurt flinch, digging fingernails into his palms as he snarled back, “That’s none of your business.”

“That’s a foolish thing to say,” Saito retorted, voice sharp.   “And I cannot believe you are that gullible.  Do you honestly think they will allow such an incident to happen again?”  His eyes bore into Kenshin, unforgiving and harsh.  “The logical thing for them to do would be to take Yamashita’s information and then execute him.”

Kenshin felt a flutter of emotion close to panic.  Saito made too much sense, and he was unforgivably naïve not to have seen the possibility before.  He couldn’t deny the efficiency of such an execution.  The mistake of Iizuka had hurt Choshu’s trust deeply, teaching a new level of caution when it came to dealing with potential recruits.  Katsura would _not_ just accept a ‘Shinsengumi traitor’ into the Choshu faction.  Did he have any right to assume that his actual mission was not to protect Yamashita, but rather hand him over for interrogation and death?

Was that what he had been doing?   Dragging a boy out of Kyoto at the expense of lives, promising him safety and protection only to have him killed?    

_No._ _Katsura would tell me if that was the case._ Unless Katsura thought he wasn’t capable of performing his mission with knowledge of the truth.  But that was ridiculous.  Katsura trusted him— 

Saito interrupted his thoughts with a sound of disbelief.  “To not even realise that…”

“They won’t,” he said faintly. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.  Of course they will.”

“They _won’t_!” Kenshin snapped, voice rising.

Saito gave a snort, his own words cold.  “Don’t be a child.”

He forced himself to uncurl his fists before he drew blood, fighting for calm.  _Did_ Katsura trust him?  Perhaps Katsura thought he was too unstable to deal with such knowledge; and Kenshin would never have known Yamashita’s ultimate fate.  _But then, I’m just a soldier of Choshu.  A hitokiri.  Why would he tell me anything?_ The thought burned; in reality, as a leader and a commander of his loyalties, Katsura wasn’t required to tell him more than he needed to know in the first place.

“You seem upset,” Saito noted.  “You shouldn’t be.  Whatever you’ve been told, there is no reason for them to have given you the truth.  You murder for them.” He gave a small shrug, his gaze mocking as he gave voice to Kenshin’s thoughts. “Nobody will explain to a dog what will happen to the bone it brings back.”

_No, that’s not it.  Katsura explains his reasoning to me more than ever now.  Katsura said …he said …_

_… ‘I owe a debt to Daisuke’._

Kenshin took a steadying breath, self control reasserting itself.  Yamashita had family amongst the Choshu clan, and Katsura was pulling him out of Kyoto largely due to that fact.  Katsura might potentially withhold information, but he wouldn’t lie about such a thing.  He closed his eyes, feeling a faint, childish pang of relief. 

_Can you do this?_

“That _does_ upset you, doesn’t it?” Saito sounded thoughtful.  “Odd.”

“No.”

“No?”

Kenshin glanced up, meeting Saito’s curious expression.  “He would not do that to me,” he said simply. 

They stared at each other, the crackle of the fire between them the only sound for some time.  Outside the light of the flames, the world was quiet and dark and bitterly cold. 

His gi, Kenshin realised with a faint measure of surprise, was finally dry enough to keep him reasonably warm.

“Hn,” Saito muttered finally, closing his eyes in dismissal.  “As you say.” 

Kenshin waited, watching the man carefully.  Yet Saito didn’t seem inclined to add anything further; five minutes passed without a single word.  To all appearances, the wolf had fallen asleep. 

Of course, that wasn’t likely to be the case.  He leaned back against the tree as he spoke, words even.  “Give me my sword.”

Saito didn’t even bother to open his eyes.  “No.”

After that, there was nothing more to be said.  They kept each other company in cool silence, waiting out the night. 


	4. Wolf Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, if asking nicely doesn't work...

_Kenshin had been prepared to ignore Tsuji Yamashita on the journey, expecting the Shinsengumi defector to be nervous, sly and full of bluster.  Katsura had said that he trusted the two cousins and Kenshin in turn trusted Katsura's judgment, but that didn't mean he had to like Yamashita or even pretend that he did.  He was Katsura's bodyguard, not his diplomat.  Kenshin had crossed swords with Saito Hajime and Okita Souji enough times in the past year that he'd grown to respect the Shinsengumi as honorable opponents, and a man who would betray them to save his own skin was not someone he cared to befriend.  Iizuka had, after all, been a painful example of the repercussions of misplaced trust._

_He had been prepared to dislike Yamashita on sight. If he were forced to be honest, Kenshin would admit that for once he'd relished the idea of hiding behind the facade of his demonic reputation on his way back to Choshu friendly lands, if only to ensure the traitor knew full well what he faced if he dared to be less than honest in his dealings with Katsura._

_His resolve began to fade when he finally entered the small tea garden in the hour before dark, hair carefully concealed beneath the wide brim of his straw hat, and came face to face with a boy younger than_ he _was.  And while he was nervous – the pale, calloused fingers constantly changing their grip on the cup in his hands – Tsuji Yamashita did not seem sly or particularly talkative.  Instead, he looked haunted._

_And frightened.  Even if Kenshin hadn't read the fear on his face, the slight flinch that trembled through the boy's frame as Kenshin sat opposite him without a sound was enough.  Yamashita's gaze dropped to the bandage on his cheek, then lifted again to stare hard at Kenshin's amber eyes, and he swallowed.  At close quarters, it would be impossible for the boy not to know precisely who had come to take him from Kyoto on this cold winter evening._

_Kenshin kept his silence, taking the time to study other, more subtle characteristics.  The dark eyes were shadowed and faintly bloodshot, betraying sleeplessness and potential tears.  He discarded the idea that the boy was a coward as he took in the grim set of his mouth and the resolve apparent in the line of his shoulders.  Yamashita might be scared, but he was committed to this course of action; it was an odd combination of emotions that made Kenshin wonder, for the first time, why he felt the need to abandon his current loyalties._

_Yamashita took a moment to swallow, and then spoke with all the calm deliberation of a man resigned to his fate, hands clenched in his lap.  “Are you here to kill me?”_

_Kenshin blinked.  And answered, voice very soft.  “No.”_

_\---------_

Kenshin let himself doze in the end.  He knew little enough about Saito, but he seriously doubted that the man would decide to kill him in his sleep.   There was little point to such cowardice, not when it would have been child’s play for Saito to slaughter him at any time he chose beforehand.  Whatever reason the wolf had for keeping him alive, Kenshin would take advantage of the situation where he could.  Let Saito stay up all night guarding the only sword; come the morning he would be tired whereas Kenshin would at least have the benefit of a few hours.  Tired people made mistakes. 

At the very least, he thought vindictively, Saito would have a miserable day.

He awoke to the quiet sound of feet padding away from the firewood to the nearby trees and opened his eyes, raising a hand to shield his sight from the initial brightness of the snow.  Early morning sunlight filtered through the trees.  The fire was almost dead; most of the wood he’d collected had been fed to the flames in the night.  Kenshin glanced across to the few scattered pieces that remained, pressed slightly into the ground.  Saito had let the fire die deliberately.   He intended to move on soon.

_So what happens now?_

He heard the faint rustle and was ready this time, snatching the remainder of his clothing deftly from the air as Saito threw it to him.  His underclothing was dry and his hakama had a faint, residual dampness that would fade as the morning progressed, particularly if they were traveling.  The sky was still clear; hopefully the fine weather would last.  Long enough that they could make it back to the road at the very least – assuming he was forced to remain in Saito’s company until then.

He expected Saito to make a scathing comment on his decision to sleep, but the wolf was silent.  Kenshin watched him curiously for a moment, and then turned aside as Saito slid the haori from his shoulders, letting him dress in semi-privacy.  He rose to his feet, wincing at the cramped muscles in his legs.  The night had been manageable with the warmth of his gi and the fire, but it had still been far too cold to be even remotely comfortable. 

Today, the air was crisp and his breath misted the air, but it didn’t seem quite as frozen.  His mouth twisted wryly at the thought.  _Today doesn’t seem as cold, because today I haven’t had to pull myself out of a river._ He drew on his clothing with swift efficiency, moved to uncharacteristic sarcasm as he knotted the ties on his hakama.  _Of course, the day is young.  Chances are he’ll want to head back to the river, looking for the men that fell._ If that was the case, he’d have to make an attempt for his sword soon.  The moment Saito managed to gather even one of his men, Kenshin’s life would be forfeit.  They would fall back to their roles as wolf and hitokiri and he would be left to bleed out in the snow.   It was a death he’d no doubt earned, and the thought of it wasn’t particularly frightening … but there were people relying on him to return.  Katsura.  Takasugi.  Even Yamashita; he would survive this little journey with Saito, if only to make sure the boy made it back to his family safely. 

_Such concern for a traitor, I have._ Kenshin drew the hand guards on and then flexed his fingers to test the suppleness of the leather, relieved to find they’d survived the water undamaged.  A little more protection, at least.  He drew his arms through the sleeves of his hanten jacket, permitting himself a brief moment to huddle into its added warmth.  Fully dressed, he felt far less vulnerable. 

He glanced up just in time to see Saito calmly tear a strip from the bottom of his yukata, and he was confused as to why, before remembering that Saito was injured.  The shallow wound Kenshin had dealt him sliced neatly up and across his left shoulder and was no longer bleeding, though its awkward position meant that any real exertion on Saito’s part risked opening it again.  He knew already that Saito would find the shoulder difficult to bandage, and for a moment he considered offering assistance.  He decided against it.  Even if Saito did accept his offer, what was the point?  Kenshin narrowed his eyes.  Better that he took every advantage he could get, rather than offer help and be mocked for it.

Instead, he kept his silence as Saito drew the strip of bandaging tight, tying the ends off with the help of his teeth.  Feigning disinterest, Kenshin scanned the trees while the other man finally pulled the rest of his clothing on.  Many of the branches were still laden with snow, a burden that would no doubt slide to the ground in a flurry of icy white if they were forced to take any more weight.  His gaze flicked from one to another, sizing them up. 

“Are you done daydreaming?” 

Saito's words held a measure of amusement.  Kenshin had no doubt the wolf knew exactly what he was thinking; he didn't particularly care.  If Saito _hadn't_ been expecting a try for the sword, Kenshin would have called him an idiot to his face.  He turned casually, expecting to meet Saito's mocking stare, and was surprised to find that Saito had already turned away, picking a careful path through the snow and into the trees.  He didn't look back.  Kenshin suppressed a small flare of irritation at the assumption that he would follow.  Saito's casual deliberation was an act, one he would abandon at once if Kenshin did not follow behind. 

Fully dressed and warmer, his movement was no longer as hampered; the thought that he could just turn and run fleetfoot through the trees in order to escape was one he discarded.  Saito had his sword.  And really, there was only one direction he could take in order to get home from here--

_Into the trees?_ Kenshin blinked, speaking before he could think better of it.  “You're not going to follow the river?”

“No.” Saito turned his head a fraction, speaking absently over his shoulder as he walked.  “The river curves.  It's faster to cut across the land.”

_We didn't go that far, surely?_ But the question was never asked, his mind taken with a more interesting one.  _I shouldn't ask.  It's better if he doesn't go.  But ..._ “What about your men?”

“What about them?”

Kenshin stared, his steps faltering.  “You're just leaving them to die.” It wasn't a question.

“Don't be a fool.”  Saito stopped completely, turning to face him with an annoyed look. “If they didn't make it out of the river, then they are dead.  That is a simple fact.”

“And if they did?”

“Would you like us running around the countryside aimlessly, Battousai?”  Saito gave a snort.  “There are many places that one could leave the river.  That means far too much ground to cover, and we have a job to do.  Those that survived will have already turned back for the road.  They will not waste time searching for me.  I will not do the same for them.”

“That's cold,” Kenshin snapped.  “You'd put the life of one fugitive over the lives of your men?”

Saito's smile turned feral, genuine anger bright in his gaze.  “I don't need to explain myself to you, and you shouldn't be asking such pointless questions.  You have an understanding of survival.  You should already know why I won't delay.”

He did.  Unless the Shinsengumi were trained in wood lore – something Kenshin didn't find likely, given their usual restriction to the streets of Kyoto – they could spend a great deal of time hunting for their allies fruitlessly in a largely inhospitable landscape, where wasting any time lessened their chances of survival greatly .  Chances were, he realised suddenly, that even if they _had_ struggled their way out of the river, they might not have survived the night.  How many were still alive?

How many had he killed?

“If your self sacrificing 'heroics'  have left any of my men able to function, then they will continue on after Tsuji Yamashita without me,” Saito said.  “I have something more important to do now, after all.”

That got his attention.  Kenshin narrowed his gaze.  “And what would that be?”

“Taking you back to Kyoto, of course.”

“To do _what?_ ”

Saito gave a casual shrug, his gaze malicious.  “What do you think?  You're the hitokiri Battousai.  I rather suspect it's my duty to take you in for interrogation and execution.”

“You--”  Kenshin gave him a disbelieving look for a moment.  Then he snarled. _“I saved your life!”_

“I haven't killed you yet,” Saito pointed out mildly.

“You consider that _payment_?”

“I consider it lenient.”

They glared at each other across the short distance.  Kenshin's gaze was murderous, anger directed both at Saito and himself.  Of _course_ there would be no acknowledgment of his actions yesterday.  Even if he wasn't responsible for the deaths of most of Saito's squad, this was a war.  _Don't be a fool.  You knew all along things would come to this._

Saito's hand drifted down to settle on the hilt of Kenshin's katana.

_So be it._ He stared into the wolf's face boldly, flinging his words as a challenge. “I threw your daisho into the river.”

He had the gratification of seeing Saito's eyes widen in outrage before he moved, lightning fast.  His speed was greater than anything the wolf could match; before Saito had finished drawing his sword, Kenshin had vanished into the trees, leaving only a small spray of snow settling back to the ground in the wake of his passage.

\--------

Saito discarded immediately the idea that Battousai had run away; the hitokiri would no sooner take the coward's way out than Saito would allow him to succeed.  He was neither blind nor stupid, and the way Battousai had been staring oh-so-subtly at the trees earlier told him all that he needed to know.

Battousai was making his play for the sword.

Saito grinned briefly, dark humour resurfacing, before bringing his purloined sword up to guard, moving steadily off in the direction the hitokiri had gone.  He was more than willing to play this game, and while he could not match the speed of his enemy, his eyes were certainly sharp enough to be able to follow the elusive flicker of red hair as the man – boy; how old _was_ he? - vanished _upward_.    Assassin's tactics, and ones doomed to fail; in the bright light of the morning, with barely a shadow to vanish into and no weapon to hand, the hitokiri Battousai was to all intents and purposes defanged. 

On the other hand, Saito hadn't managed to live this long by making the mistake of underestimating his opponents.  Battousai was smarter than most; unless he had a reason for this ploy, the redhead wouldn't bother to attempt it.  Saito made no attempt at stealth.  There was no point.  Instead, he moved with an almost lazy tread through the trees, taking his time, presenting himself as a deliberate target.   

The hitokiri was adept at hiding his presence, having spent a significant amount of his earlier months in Kyoto skulking in back alleyways awaiting the kill.  Nevertheless, Saito knew the moment he passed Battousai's hiding spot even without looking up.  Above, the tiny creak of the branch fifteen feet up that gave away his deft perch; the faint shift and flutter of snow displaced, a bare sprinkling that drifted to the ground.  That his enemy was good enough not to divest the branch of its entire burden was impressive, but his presence was still obvious to anyone trained, and that made Saito frown.  Battousai wasn't stupid; he had to know his hiding place was compromised.  That left one option: the hitokiri wanted to be underestimated.

Saito kept moving, deliberately leaving his back open to attack, continuing along his original path with a casual air.  Let the idiot think that he was doing exactly that.  He let the tip of the sword drop, letting it drag slightly, insultingly, in the snow.  Behind him, the branch trembled faintly, and then was still.  Battousai had moved, shifting to another perch close by.  Saito had to fight down an amused snort. 

Apparently, he was being stalked.

_Interesting ploy, and one I will indulge.  To a point._  A few steps further and he was back at the campsite, the embers of their fire no longer warm.  This tiny clearing, ringed by trees, would no doubt be where Battousai wanted him.  He scuffed at the ashes with a faint scowl, the memory of his awakening still fresh in his mind.  There was irony in that; a game was being played out, but Saito had no doubt that if Battousai attacked, he would be going for the kill.  He _did_ grin at that. If the idiot didn't want this to happen, then he shouldn't have pulled Saito from the river in the first place.  .

There was something missing from the campsite. 

It took a bare second to realise what had changed.  He glanced sharply across to the faint depressions in the snow, and the memory of the remnants of splintered firewood sparked in his mind.  Splintered, sharp; better a weapon than nothing.  He blinked in honest surprise – _he's fast –_ as he felt the sudden, faint flicker of hostility behind and above him. 

Saito spun, eyes hard, meeting Battousai's narrow amber gaze as the hitokiri dropped from above without a sound, brandishing a long shaft of wood in his hands like a club.  He didn't miss a beat, but took a step backward, bringing the sword up to shear the branch neatly in two and continuing in an upward stroke aimed to cleave up through his opponent's head.  Battousai stared at him levelly for the briefest moment before falling backward, avoiding the lethal strike with easy grace as he flung the remnants of his makeshift weapon up into Saito's face. 

It was barely more than a distraction, which no doubt was what it was meant to be.  The ploy worked to a minor extent; by the time Saito swatted away the annoyance, Battousai had ducked backward to buy space, avoiding the downward arc of the sword and launching himself back up to a low, snow-laden branch.  He landed heavily and glanced back, expression almost insolent as he leapt higher, allowing Saito a moment to spot the other two, smaller pieces of splintered wood tucked in the back of the navy gi before the force of his movement sent a flood of snow cascading down from the branch and blocking his view. 

And just like that, the hitokiri vanished.

Saito grinned. _A club.  He used it as a club.  He knew he would fail ..._

_..._ very _interesting._  

Cat and mouse it was; he had little desire to scale trees in an attempt to hunt a man who clearly had more experience fighting amongst them.  Saito wondered when he'd learned _that_ trick – it wasn't as if their fights in Kyoto took place off the ground.  Had Battousai grown up out here?  Trained out here?  It was effective, if that was the case.  He certainly knew how to keep himself alive in the wilderness at any rate; something Saito couldn't say for many of the men he worked with. 

That being aside, Battousai still had at least two more tricks up his sleeve, and now Saito wasn't particularly minded to wait and see what they were.  He turned in a careful circle, gaze flicking from tree to tree until he found the one he was after.  No snow gave away the redhead's presence this time; he just _knew._    Above, he would be balancing one foot on the crook of the branch, clinging to the trunk, ready to jump at a moment's notice.  Saito could visualise it just as clearly as if Battousai had been in plain sight. 

 "One shouldn't play at stalking a wolf, Battousai.  Come down.”  His smile turned predatory as he stared upward, lifting the blade and running his other hand along its length, before turning the blade to rest sideways across his palm.  “If I must, I will pull you to the ground if I have to cut down every tree in the forest.”

He struck, powerfully fast, ignoring the sudden sting across his shoulder.  The blade sheared through the trunk as if it were rice paper and sent an explosion of wood chips into the air.  Battousai was leaping even as the tree shuddered, sailing across the clearing to catch at another branch and swing even further, fiery topknot streaming behind him.  He landed deftly as a cat on a low branch not twenty feet away and caught Saito's eyes with a look of pure fury. Saito merely smiled coldly and closed to attack, ignoring the tumbling fall of displaced snow to slice through the branch.  Battousai leapt again, landing on the ground lightly enough that he barely disturbed the crust on the ground and took off at a run. 

Behind them, the thunder of the tree's fall was deafening, sending a plume of snow into the air violent enough to shower down around them.  Saito ducked behind shelter, avoiding the majority of the downpour as he paused a moment to check the crimson stain seeping slowly through his haori, curling his lip in annoyance.  He caught a flicker of movement ahead and glanced up to see that Battousai had turned in mid sprint.  Red hair dusted in powdered white, he drew the second piece of wood from his gi and threw it in one easy movement, sending the small length of branch – practically a twig – spinning end over end, aimed directly at his face.

Saito batted it aside with the blade, eyebrow raised.  It had taken far less effort than avoiding Battousai's first attack, and he wasn't sure if the hitokiri had plain misjudged or if Saito had somehow upset his attack plan.  Either way, his enemy's only response was to narrow his eyes, turn and keep running, weaving through the trees in an attempt to throw pursuit. 

Truly intrigued now – and flatly insulted at being underestimated in turn – Saito gave chase, eyes fixed on the trailing topknot as the hitokiri continued to weave and turn, apparently determined to make sure as many obstacles were between him and the wolf as possible.  Saito was relentless, closing the distance gradually with his more direct sprint, eyes fixed on the trailing ribbon of red hair ahead as he ran.  They were much closer to the river now – he could see the flat grey expanse of the water through the trees – and it was only as Battousai turned to dart a look over his shoulder that Saito stopped short, aware that it was entirely possible he was being goaded onward.   The hitokiri vanished once more into the trees.

_What are you up to, Battousai?_ He held still, listening carefully to the world around him.  The sluggish flow of water close by was audible now, as was the crackling sound of the felled tree settling to earth in the distance.  Remembering the look of fury he'd received, Saito glanced down at the sword in his hand, inspecting it for damage.  The blade was intact.  He smiled faintly in approval ... and lifted his head as he heard the faint footfall of a small figure lowering himself down to the ground some distance behind him.  Battousai had doubled back.   He caught the motion of a lifted arm out of the corner of his vision and almost rolled his eyes, before spinning on his heel and lifting the sword to deflect the anticipated attack.

The snowball hit the blade and dissolved into a fistful of wet cold spattering into his eyes, taking him entirely by surprise. 

Saito flinched, shaking his head in an attempt to clear his vision, his surreal disbelief rapidly overtaken by a sense of growing urgency.  He took a step backward, focusing blurred gaze past the snow glittering back to earth and caught sight of murderous amber eyes a scant three feet away.  Hurtling along the same path as the ball of snow, taking advantage of the temporary blind spot it created, Battousai descended upon him with his final branch thrust forward, jagged edge on a line for Saito's throat, and he no longer had room to parry--

Saito's foot crashed into the redhead's ribs, sending the much smaller frame crashing into the snow with a grunt. The splintered end of the branch scraped a line across his collarbone, and he cupped it with a hand, lips pulled back in a snarl as he watched Battousai roll back to his feet with a pained look, yanking the branch back out of the ground from where it embedded itself.

_Fool._ An insult directed at himself; the odd tactic had taken him completely by surprise, and it angered him. He'd been playing by Battousai's rules all along.  _Enough is enough._   He gave a flick of his wrist to shake the last snow from the blade and advanced as the redhead took a step backward, face wary, the knowledge clear in his slightly widened eyes that his tactic had failed to work. 

Saito gave him a hard smile, his voice low, barely more than a growl.  “I am going to kill you.”

In response, Battousai swung the branch backward as if preparing for attack – yet instead of leaping at Saito, his strike drove into the ground with a ridiculous amount of force.  Snow exploded upward and out, threatening to engulf Saito where he stood.  He swept to the left, hearing the sharp crack as the branch shattered under the strain, sending large splinters into the air to rain down with the snow.  He expected Battousai to attack then – and instead caught sight of the dark, blue and grey clad figure sprinting past for the river. 

_What...was that?_ He didn't stop to consider it further, instead giving chase with a cold fury that promised death for his quarry.  He no longer cared that Battousai was now unarmed, nor that he previously had half-serious intent to ensure that any secrets the hitokiri held could be forced from him in the cells at Kyoto   There were no further tricks;  Battousai was clearly in full flight now, aware that he was out of options, bursting from the trees to make straight for the river's edge. 

He was still too fast; Saito drew the sheath from his belt, hurling it low and straight.  The iron slammed into the back of his quarry's knees.  This time, there was a sharp, surprised hiss of pain as Battousai fell again, tumbling to plow into snow and skid further down the bank, fetching up by the water's edge.  Face pale with concentration, the hitokiri latched onto the rocks nearby, drawing himself up onto his knees, hand plunging into the snow beside him as Saito leapt across the snow to attack from above, bringing his stolen sword down in a vicious arc that the redhead would _not_ be able to avoid--

The clear, ringing sound of steel on steel echoed through the crisp winter morning. 

The blade was only partly drawn, held by hilt and sheath, the bared length of steel – _Saito's own sword_ – parrying the killing blow.  And as Saito stared across the crossed blades into the venomous eyes of his enemy, he decided to add one more detail to the information he was carefully memorising about this worthwhile opponent ...

... that among many other things, the hitokiri Battousai was a liar.

 


	5. A Momentary Return to Reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If a samurai falls in a forest, does anyone care? Saito and Kenshin stop to consider the wisdom of murdering each other miles from anywhere, and options are carefully examined.

They were evenly matched as always, neither slowed by injury. Nor was there disadvantage to be found in their ironic trade of swords. Any sense of reason or logic was long gone. The morning was frozen in time, the cold barely noticed as they fought. To the part of Kenshin's mind that was still rational, it almost seemed that the day could not move on until the battle was resolved.  It did not matter that they were on the uneven banks of a river in the middle of nowhere, and that – here and now – there were no Ishin Shishi to protect, nor Shinsengumi members to delay. Saito was trying to kill him, murder clearly written in his eyes, and even if Kenshin's tactics hadn't goaded Saito to this point – even if his own fury and battle lust had not risen to the challenge – they were enemies, and this was a war. Whether the war took place in Kyoto or otherwise, there could only be one outcome that either of them would accept.

One of them had to die.

His foot slid into the water as he parried and he corrected his stance without thinking, spinning low around the edge of Saito's blade to gain the higher ground. He had lost track of where or when they'd begun; knew only that they had moved along the bank in a mad dance of flashing steel and precarious footwork, where missing even one step could be lethal to either participant. He took what measure of satisfaction he could in the fact that Saito was bleeding again, the shoulder wound staining red through the wolf's clothing; a compensation for the injuries that Saito had dealt to _him_. The bruising Kenshin would gain from the kick to his ribs and the sheath to the back of his knees – his own sheath, to add to his humiliation – would make him sore for days to come. His right hand was suffering problems of its own, thumb and two fingers abraded and swollen from the idiocy of attempting _do ryu sen_ with rough wood instead of the smooth grip of a sword.

All of this, Kenshin tallied in the back of his mind and then ignored. There were more important things to hand. Killing Saito, no matter how long it took; surviving to make it home to Katsura. He would do this, and he would bury Saito in the snow where he fell, and if very lucky he would make it back to any sort of civilization in the next five days. Remembering why he was delayed out here in the snow angered him further, lending him an extra surge of adrenalin that he pressed to his advantage.

The first attack to draw blood was his, a fine cut licking along Saito's jaw to parallel the scratch on his neck. The only response was a narrowing of amber eyes so similar to his own – killer's eyes – and a brutal retaliation that came not in the form of a sword strike, but a kick that slammed into the side of Kenshin's knee as he parried Saito's feint with the blade. He went down in the snow as the knee folded, let himself go limp to the ground and rolled, barely avoiding Saito's follow up as the wolf drove the blade into the snow where he'd fallen.

As he staggered upright, Kenshin swung – backhanded and viciously - for Saito's legs, only to be parried again. He jumped backward, putting space between them, and swore inwardly as his leg threatened to buckle. Shifting to support himself on his left leg instead, he slammed the sword back into its sheath, crouching slightly with his hand hovering over the hilt. Saito responded by sinking into a stance that Kenshin would have been familiar with if he _hadn't_ seen the bastard usehis sword on a tree not five minutes ago.

There was a frozen moment of tension as they gave each other a measuring stare across the snow.

Saito struck first, _gatotsu_ so brutally fast that Kenshin’s _battoujutsu_ barely managed to deflect it. The blades scraped jarringly together, forcing Saito’s strike upward just enough to avoid piercing his chest, instead slicing thinly across his shoulder. Though shallow, the sudden exposure of an open wound to the cold made him hiss between his teeth and he staggered backward in the snow, barely managing to keep his sword up in defense as Saito attacked again, strike slamming against the raised katana.

Saito smiled ferally at him across the locked blades. “We’re even.”

Kenshin scowled, shifting his left hand to the back of his blade as Saito pressed the advantage. His feet slid backward in the snow, bruised knee barely holding his weight, and he cursed silently again. At this rate, even if he won the battle, making it home was going to be difficult. _At this rate…_ His eyes widened as an uneasy thought forced its way into his mind, bringing with it a dose of reason. _We’re too evenly matched._ He slid another step, gritting his teeth as his arms felt the strain of keeping the wolf’s sword away from his neck. “Saito, listen—“

His entreaty went unheard. There was too much fury in Saito’s eyes, too much intent to murder. Kenshin’s underhanded tricks in the forest had been a slight to the wolf’s pride, one he would not easily ignore. At his back the trees loomed, too close for comfort; after another moment the redhead spat a barely audible obscenity and broke stance, planting a foot into Saito’s midsection in an attempt to knock him backward. He knew as he struck that the blow was too light to inflict damage, but the split second bought by Saito’s brief stagger was the only respite he needed.

Kenshin jumped back another step before turning to run, sidestepping the branches with intent to put space between them and try to make the wolf see reason. He rounded the tree and skidded in the snow as he was met with the sharp edge of a blade swinging fast for his face.   Biting back another curse for his stupidity – of _course_ Saito would move to cut him off – he brought his own katana up to parry just in time, almost missing the strike as his feet kept sliding forward. He landed on his back in the snow, rolled and planted a hand on the ground, flipping back to his feet, swinging upward blindly in an attempt to stop the blade that he _knew_ would be thrusting for his chest.

There was a ringing sound as the swords connected. Saito’s strike was skewed from its intended course, stabbing through the cloth of Kenshin’s gi with enough force to knock him backward. He felt the burn of the blade as it scraped along his ribs and hissed between his teeth as he was slammed into the tree behind, but the wound was shallow. The tip of Saito’s sword was embedded – _again_ – into the bark; before Saito could draw it free, Kenshin closed his left hand around the steel and held it fast.

He met Saito’s gaze and spoke, voice clear and sharp. “ _Think_.”

Emotion flickered in the wolf’s eyes, too mild to be surprise. It was gone before Kenshin could identify it. A moment later, a fist crashed into his jaw with enough force to make him reel. The blow could have been far harder. It was intended as a distraction; instinct prompted him to snatch his fingers back from the blade just as Saito yanked it roughly from the tree.

Clearly, Saito didn’t intend to listen. Kenshin cupped a hand to his jaw, acknowledging the bare fact: that if he did not match Saito’s lethal intent, he would lose in any case. _So be it._ He lifted his blade, ruthlessly quashing his faint sense of disappointment, and met the next attack on even terms.

\---------

_“_ Think. _”_

_Saito was thoroughly annoyed with the naïveté that the boy had thus far shown, but Tsuji Yamashita was a part of his squad and he wouldn’t abide the boy shaming himself. His words were mild and for once free of sarcasm, addressed to the figure that had frozen in the doorway mid-flight. “With your lineage and your ties to this woman, your motives are already suspected. Do you truly wish to give the Shogunate call to have you interrogated and removed from the Shinsengumi?”_

_There was only one way a man could leave the Shinsengumi, and they both knew it. Yamashita took a breath, hand gripping the door frame with enough strength that Saito wondered idly if he would splinter it. “Saito-san—“_

_“I am going to say this once,” Saito said coldly. “Stand aside and let Hijikata do what needs to be done. In doing so, you will prove yourself free of guilt, if not stupidity.”_

_In response, Yamashita spun on his heel. The look on his face might have been heartbreaking if he had tried it on another; the words that burst from him were desperate. “What they’re doing is torture—”_

_“So?”_

_Yamashita stared at him._

_“She knew this was a risk when she undertook to work against us.” He was deliberately callous. “Trust that her loyalties to Satsuma far outweigh any feeble infatuation she had with you, if her feelings were even genuine to begin with.”_

_The boy’s hurt shock was giving way to anger, which to Saito’s mind was an improvement. He paused a few moments before continuing, watching with silent approval as Yamashita visibly fought his fury down; the boy would be aware that to lash out now would be striking at the wrong target. “We are the Shinsengumi; our role is to police Kyoto’s streets against revolutionaries and lawless samurai. You knew this when you arrived. Did you think it was all glory? Ugliness and betrayal are a common part of life. Accept this, and don’t be so quick to fall for a girl’s smile.”_

_“They were genuine,” Yamashita said stubbornly._

_Saito raised an eyebrow. “You say that as if I should care. Do you think that matters now? Your romantic ideals mean nothing. Not to me, not to Hijikata. Not to her. She’ll have forgotten you by now. Hijikata is very efficient.”_

_Yamashita went white._

_“The most you can do,” Saito finished calmly, “Is pray that she breaks quickly and earns a swift death.”_

_“She doesn’t deserve this,” Yamashita finally whispered. “Where is the proof she is even a spy?”_

_Saito considered tolerating the unwise challenge, and then decided that he had been patient enough. No matter the circumstances, the boy should have known far better than to question his honour. His next words were all cruel ice. “She deserves worse. If you will not learn from words, then you will learn from deeds. Report to Hijikata. You will watch the proceedings to their end. Listen to her confession, realise she cares nothing for you and then return here and dare to say that again.” His eyes caught and held Yamashita’s stricken gaze. “If you can.”_

_Long seconds passed before Yamashita moved, dropping into a stiff bow of respect, his voice barely audible. “Hai, Saito-san.”_

_Saito turned away without another word, crossing the room to pour himself a cup of sake. He heard the shuffle of feet as Yamashita turned and left the room. If the boy’s gait was slightly uneven, he would never mention it. He drank, listening to the sound of the recruits training in the courtyard, and waited for the inevitable quiet step as another figure paused in the doorway._

_“Harsh … but just like you, Saito-san.”_

_“I don’t recall asking your opinion.” He poured another drink. “That boy has to wake up to reality.”_

_“Is that why you made him watch?”_

_He turned to give his visitor a narrow stare. “You don’t think I should have.”_

_Okita Souji shrugged, his boyish smile cheerful and placatory. His eyes, however, were serious, meeting Saito’s gaze thoughtfully. “No,” he said after a moment. “I understand your reasoning. I just wonder if this will break him.  
_

_“If it does, he never belonged here to begin with,” Saito snapped. “The Shinsengumi is a place for wolves. I have neither the time nor inclination to deal with a kicked puppy who does not know when to keep his mouth shut. There is a time and place for everything.”_

_Watching the woman’s interrogation would force Yamashita to face several ugly truths, not the least of which being her sincere lack of regard for him. The boy had been used and was blind to the fact. Either his flaws would be tempered in this trial by fire, or he would break and be unsuited for this harsh life … but far better either result than Yamashita continue on as he had in such ridiculously idealistic fashion. Saito had no place for fools in his squad._

_“Saito-san?”_

_“Hn.”_

_Okita’s smile was sweet and deceptively innocent. “Would you have forced him to watch if he hadn’t challenged your honour?”_

_\---------_

_A time and place for everything, was it…?_

They were feeling the effects of an extended battle now, both combatants breathing heavily as they faced each other. Battousai’s red hair was damp with sweat and his gi stained with blood; Saito had no doubt that he looked much the same. With no time constraints or cause for interruption, they would fight each other into the ground. The hitokiri was right, Saito conceded grudgingly – their skill levels were too close.

Whoever managed to deal the killing blow would be far too wounded to survive the harsh trip back to Kyoto alone. While the redhead currently locking blades with him might have some sort of death wish – and the idea of fighting this battle to its end despite the consequences was strangely appealing - Saito acknowledged that such an end to their feud was pointless.  

He lowered his sword a bare fraction and sighed.

“You do realise you’ve been tricked.” His voice was mild and distant, seeming unfamiliar even to his own ears. Battousai stared at him in sudden wariness, although whether for his words or the implied reprieve, Saito was unsure. It hardly mattered. “There is nothing that Yamashita can offer to Choshu. He was one of our newest recruits. If he promised you our secrets in exchange for his protection, then he is lying.”

“That is not my concern,” Battousai replied flatly.

Saito gave him a sly smile. Nor should it have been the hitokiri’s concern whether or not Yamashita was executed upon his return. Given the ease with which Saito had baited him with this fact the night before, he came to the most logical conclusion: Battousai already knew – or at least suspected - the boy’s information would be worthless. Which in itself made no sense; why would a dispassionate, trained killer offer protection to a coward on grounds he knew to be false? Protection that drew him from Kyoto, a place where his skills would be far better put to use? If the boy had any other merit of character, perhaps…

Clearly there was another angle he had not considered. 

It seemed he would have several days to find out. With a snort of disgust he straightened, flicking the blood from the katana in his hand before sheathing it. “This is ridiculous. I’ve wasted enough time.”

If the hitokiri was surprised, he did an excellent job of hiding it. His words were challenging. “And your intentions?”

_Ah. Well._ Saito smirked outright. “My original goals stand.”

“Then we stop for nothing.”

“Don’t be a fool,” he said sharply as Battousai took a step forward. “One of us will die quickly, the other slowly.” When there was no response, he continued on, deliberately patronising. “Don’t tell me that you haven’t worked that out yet.”

The barb scored home; he had the distinct satisfaction of seeing the redhead’s eyes flash in outrage. “You—“

“I’m aware that attempting to take you back to Kyoto as a captive is unrealistic,” Saito interrupted. “I don’t intend to disarm you, nor will I hamper your movement.”

As Shinsengumi his own duty required that Battousai be killed, whether in battle – preferably – or in the same miserable fashion that Yamashita’s woman had met her end. However, Saito was willing enough to defer his vendetta until they were on more familiar ground. The opportunity he offered was double-edged. One of them might fall to injury or illness, rendering the whole issue moot; the weather could kill them both.

There was an offer implicit in his words; that between now and the return home, anything could happen to disrupt the inevitable conclusion to their journey.

Eventually, Battousai lowered his sword, giving Saito a guarded look. “A truce, then.”

“Aa.”

Battousai stared at him a moment longer. Then, with a quiet sigh, he straightened and sheathed Saito’s katana, lifting it and meeting his eyes with a patient look. Saito considered a moment and then nodded, holding his own stolen blade up.

There was no attempt at deceit. They traded swords with a practiced flick of the wrist. He relished the familiar feel of his own weapon in his hands before sliding it into his belt and stepping forward. The hitokiri held his own katana in hand, watching him warily as he approached.

“Keep your sword.” Saito moved past him for the water’s edge without slowing. “We will postpone the match.”

“When?”

“When Kyoto is in our sights.”

“You assume I am returning to Kyoto.”

“Did you think to go after the boy?” He knelt on the riverbank. Battousai had taken the katana from here; it stood to reason that the wakizashi must also be hidden in the same place. His hand ran over the rocks. “If you are so convinced my men can’t catch up to him, what makes you think you can when you are a day behind?”

_There._ His fingers closed over the hilt of the shorter sword and he pulled it free with satisfaction, before turning to give the other man an amused look. “Especially when you will need to cross the same pass that you decided to make inaccessible. If I am not mistaken, we _are_ on the wrong side of the river.”

Battousai scowled. “Fine.”

“Then we’re agreed.”

“You will not follow Yamashita.”

He nearly rolled his eyes. “The others of my squad will have given chase. I’ve already told you of my change in plans.”

“You will not be arresting me, either.”

The hitokiri said it with such quiet authority that it gave Saito pause. He glanced up to meet the flat hostility of the redhead’s gaze as he stood there, slender hands bunched into fists at his sides … and conceded the point.

As unlikely as the notion had been to begin with, there would be no arrest. Battousai would never allow it; would fight until he had won, or Saito was forced to kill him. He gave grudging approval for that choice, and stood up, sheathing the wakizashi next to his katana.

“Well, then,” he murmured. “You’ll have your chance to prove it.”

He turned and began to walk carefully back in the direction of the pass. After a moment, he heard the quiet footfalls as the hitokiri began to follow.

The river had been almost lethally fast, tumbling them very far from their original course. It would likely be several days before they could pick their way over land back to the bridge. After that, Kyoto was still another four days distant, weather permitting.

A lot could happen in a week. After that …

After that, they would see.


	6. Comparisons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saito and Kenshin have a slightly more reasonable discussion about how they travel, where they travel, and who gets stuck with cooking duty.

 

**Comparisons**

_There were many things about Tsuji Yamashita that grated on Kenshin’s nerves. Once understanding that the hitokiri’s intention was not to kill, but rather offer him the protection he needed to escape from Kyoto, Yamashita_ babbled _. The words were not friendly banter, but rather a nervous, almost terrified attempt to fill the silence as they traveled the road. Kenshin was not used to people talking at him, and could remember only one other person who had done so. The fact that the other person had been Iizuka did nothing for his temper, especially given other comparisons that could be drawn. He wondered bleakly if the only real difference between the two was that he knew from the beginning that Yamashita was a traitor._

_On the other hand, the boy had yet to demand anything of him or even brag about the information he was bringing to Katsura. Yamashita was frightened, but did not fit the role of a coward. After half a day of traveling with him, keeping a careful eye on their surroundings even as he noticed the strain on Yamashita’s face and the dark shadows beneath his eyes, Kenshin grudgingly softened his opinion again. Something had happened to seriously traumatize the boy; enough that he had felt the need to flee his squad and return home to his family. So he focused on his duty, measured his pace to match Yamashita’s more hesitant steps and let the boy chatter. The road was deserted; few people traveled between towns at this time of year if they could help it. Despite this, Kenshin stayed off it as much as possible. The Shinsengumi would never let one of their own go. There would be pursuit. He just wasn’t sure when._

_The third day saw ominously dark clouds engulf the sky, and he knew there would be a storm before the day was out. Though he had packed carefully for winter travel, Kenshin wondered if either of them would have adequate protection without a sheltered fire. Certainly Yamashita would have no experience with braving a blizzard out in the open. He glanced back to the boy, struggling with the weight of his pack, face pinched with cold. Yamashita was silent now; the days of travel had worn him down until he was little more than a ghost trailing along in Kenshin’s shadow. He was clearly unused to traveling such long distances, let alone during the middle of winter. Yet he hadn’t complained._

_Kenshin watched him as he staggered onward, and then fell back silently to fall into step with him. “There is a storm coming,” he said._

_“Can we…” Yamashita stopped, pausing to get his breath back. “Are we going to be … all right?”_

_“Give me your pack.” He forestalled the automatic protest with a flat stare. “Now.”_

_Wordlessly, Yamashita shrugged his shoulders out of the straps, holding it out to him with effort. It was by far the lighter of the two. Kenshin took it without a word and turned on his heel, continuing on at a faster pace._

_After a moment, he could hear the footfalls as Yamashita hurried to catch up with him. “Thank you. I … I really appreciate it.”_

_“Don’t,” he said roughly._ Don’t appreciate me. That’s not what I’m here for. _“You were too slow. That’s all.”_

 

\---------

 

The persistent throb of his knee, swollen and even more painful in the cold, did nothing to help his temper. Kenshin had no choice but to favour it, slowing him enough that keeping up with Saito’s long-legged stride would be impossible unless he wanted to try scurrying like a dog. It was something he refused to do.

Instead, he limped at the most comfortable pace he could, trying to resist the urge to cross both arms across his chest in a vain attempt to preserve body warmth. The morning’s battle had done nothing to help their situation; now that both of them were further injured with varying cuts and gashes, clothing ripped and torn, the bitter cold had more ways to seep into his bones. At his most cynical, Kenshin wondered if - by postponing the fight - all they had accomplished was delaying their death by a day. If they did not find adequate shelter by nightfall, he knew, they would not be able to protect themselves from the harsh drop in temperature.

At other times, he wondered hopefully if Saito would give in to impatience and leave him behind. He didn’t care much either way about resuming their match. What he cared about right now was the prospect of being forced to remain in the wolf’s company for the better part of a week. The indulgent looks that Saito kept throwing his way were already sawing at his nerves.

Eventually, Saito turned and regarded him patiently. “I didn’t think I kicked you that hard. Do you need me to carry you?”

An offer that neither of them had any intention of taking up. It would be a cold day in hell, Kenshin vowed, before he let Saito even _pretend_ to help him in any way. He shot the wolf the coldest stare he could and stalked past without a word. After a moment he heard a quiet snort that set his teeth on edge, followed by slower, more deliberate footsteps that somehow seemed rank insult.

Saito was clearly doing worse than he was; the bruising on his temple only served to accentuate the man’s pallor, and his eyes were shadowed and bloodshot. Kenshin took no satisfaction from that fact. If anything, it meant that their chances of survival were halved again.

He was hungry.

The last time he’d eaten had been with Yamashita the morning before. They’d eaten breakfast on the road a scant mile from the river pass. The meal had been interrupted when Kenshin had finally sighted Saito’s squad far behind them, coming up fast. There hadn’t been time to eat after that; nothing but a headlong run to the bridge in an attempt to stake better ground for the inevitable confrontation. With Yamashita to protect, anywhere else would have resulted in failure …

He realised with a start that Saito would have gone without food even longer. Kenshin considered that, and sighed. _Damn._ He stopped, turning to glance at Saito’s curious face. “We should find shelter in the next hour,” he said carefully. “It would be foolish to continue like this.”

He expected mockery for the comment, and was surprised when Saito merely nodded thoughtfully. “We’ve managed to travel some distance. I suppose settling into camp before sundown would be wise.”

By the time they found shelter and found serviceable firewood, it would be closer to late afternoon. They would need the extra hours of daylight to find food; he was sure neither of them relished the idea of being caught away from the fire once night fell.

They traveled gradually uphill, slowly winding their way through the countryside to the top of the pass. It had been a long way down to the river from the bridge; climbing back to the road was proving to be a strenuous task in itself. The ground had become more treacherous, uneven beneath the deceptive blanket of snow, creating small pockets of unstable footing. Twice, tired and distracted, Kenshin plunged through the mass of white to his thighs. He gritted his teeth, ploughing through the icy cold until he could drag himself out again, refusing to look back at Saito. That he was cold and aching did not give him any excuse for carelessness; he had lived for years in such a place, and should know better. At least Saito had no reason to think that—

“You’re clumsy for a person raised in the wilderness, Battousai.”

He stiffened, both at the mocking tone and the assumption. The less Saito guessed about his life, the better. “You know nothing about me.”

“Hn.”

Kenshin hesitated, and then pushed on stubbornly when Saito said nothing else. There was a fallen tree ahead, dusted with snow; he wondered if the storm two nights ago had caused it to topple. He skirted the branches, stooping to break some of the more flimsy ones away. The less time they had to devote to the collection of firewood, the better. There was a cracking, splintering sound behind him as Saito followed suit.

Shortly after that, they came to the rock shelf. Kenshin stared at it measuringly; where until now they had been steadily travelling on an upward slope, nature now dictated that they climb a short way in order to continue. It didn’t concern him; the small cliff was fifteen feet high, and would barely slow them down on a good day.   But two falls into a snowdrift had accomplished what their earlier swordfight had not; he could barely feel his legs.

On the other hand, if they were very lucky …

“There.” Saito had paused alongside him, lifting one arm to point east. The rock face curved slightly forward, creating a small recess that would be protected from the wind on two sides.   If the night turned stormy, they would have little overhead shelter, but at mid-afternoon the sky was clear. Kenshin took a breath. It was likely the best they were going to get.

“The tree that fell,” he said. “We can strip it of some of the branches.”

“Most of those will be too damp for firewood,” Saito pointed out reasonably.

“I know that. But they’ll dry, and before that they’ll be better to rest on than the wet ground.”

“True enough.” Saito drew his sword, turning on his heel. “I’ll cut them.”

Kenshin winced. It had been bad enough when Saito had used _his_ sword to shatter a tree trunk earlier in the day. A sword was not made to be used so brutally. “With a katana?”

Saito gave him a disdainful look. “What would you like me to use, Battousai? My teeth?”

_Ask a stupid question._ He clenched his jaw. “No.”

The wolf grinned. “I could use your sword, I suppose.”

“No.”

“Then stop being a fool. I have no choice. You may consider it recompense for the tree earlier.”

Saito turned away once more, stalking toward the fallen tree as if it were just as much prey as any living creature. He shook a branch free of snow, stretching it out before severing the wood from the trunk in one quick slice. The set of his mouth showed that Saito did not much like using his sword in this fashion, either.

  
Kenshin sighed.  

“Battousai.”

He was immediately suspicious. “What?”

Saito straightened, branch in hand, and offered him a placid smile. “There was a rabbit trail that crossed our route just earlier. Make yourself useful and hunt one down.”

_I should have known._ The request was a fair one. Yet he couldn’t escape the feeling that Saito was testing him. His earlier remark about growing up out here had hit too close to the mark. Kenshin feigned ignorance. “With just a sword?”

Saito smirked outright, amber eyes all too knowing. His reply was carefully phrased innocence. “You’re the fast one. I’m sure you could outrun a rabbit.”

“And you’re the wolf,” Kenshin shot back. “Stalking a rabbit should only be natural.”

“It seems,” Saito said mildly, “that in some things there is not much difference between a wolf and a hitokiri.”

Kenshin ground his teeth together to avoid snapping back a childish retort, and instead turned to limp back the way they’d come. At least hunting for food would put him out of the range of Saito’s snide observations for an hour or two. Yet despite his frustration, he could not refrain from wincing when he heard the sharp crack of the katana as it sheared another branch away.

 

\---------

 

He followed the crisp tread of their footprints back until he found the trail Saito had mentioned. The tracks would have to be recent, given the snowfall two nights ago. Despite his words to Saito, he knew of several ways to snare a rabbit without being reduced to chasing one down. Hiko Seijuro had taught him far more than swordplay on the mountain; stalking and trapping game had been a smaller facet of his training, but nevertheless they’d had several impromptu (and occasionally accidental) camping trips over the years. ‘ _Think like a rabbit’,_ indeed. Only three years ago. It seemed far longer.

Saito was overly curious about him. He supposed it made sense for the Shinsengumi captain to find out as much about his enemy as possible, given the unique opportunity, and wondered just how Saito intended to actually use what information he gleaned. If the wolf decided Kenshin had family in the wilderness, would he then try to use that family against him? No sooner had he considered that, than the image of a Shinsengumi squad attempting to scale Hiko’s mountain in an attempt to arrest his former master crossed his mind.

He almost smiled.

It occurred to him, then, that Saito had sent him off to find food without a single qualm that he would choose the opportunity to escape. Kenshin considered that. He had no intention of _escaping_ now. Even if it hadn’t been common sense in their current condition to work together, a deal had been struck. Saito had obviously come to the same conclusion; what surprised him was that the wolf had clearly decided to credit Kenshin with enough intelligence to realise it for himself. Given his constant mockery and belittlement, the idea seemed out of place. _No._ It was more likely that the fault lay with his own perceptions. There was always more to a man than the façade he presented to others. Yamashita had been a clear example of that.

To judge Saito merely by his sarcastic insults would be rank stupidity. Of course, Kenshin thought darkly, he certainly made it hard. What was it about the wolf that jarred him so much? Iizuka had constantly mocked him, and he had occasionally borne the brunt of teasing before from those in Choshu who hadn’t known any better. None of them had ever come close to ruffling his composure.

_Not entirely true_ , a soft thought intruded, forcing his honesty. There had been one sore spot, one subject of discussion which had always riled him, almost without effort.

_So this is Himura’s girl!_

_And just as unfriendly as Himura!_

_So. How was she?_

Kenshin closed his eyes. It had been a long year, and the last time he had hunted it had not been for rabbits.

Such memories were dangerous.

He ran a hand over the bark of a nearby tree, considering his options. He could try and fashion a snare from either the underbark or a thin strip of cloth, but he wasn’t sure how successful it would be. Rabbits were creatures of twilight at the best of times; in winter, he would be lucky to see one at all before nightfall. Perhaps he would be forced to stalk one down with a sword after all. He did not relish being away from the camp once darkness set in. It would be too cold by far. Better that he returned to a warm fire and Saito’s scathing sarcasm, than be caught out here with nothing but his memories to keep him company.

 

\---------

 

_They returned to the road, hoping to make better time. Fortune was with them, of a sort; ahead, perhaps two miles from the river pass, they saw an isolated cabin. The oncoming weather gave little choice. Kenshin swallowed his reservations and allowed Yamashita to knock on the door to ask for shelter against the storm. Inside lived a young widow and her parents, well stocked for the winter, who welcomed the boy in to warm himself by the fire. They looked at Kenshin’s shadowed eyes with more doubt, which was fine. He spoke softly and politely and curled himself in the corner out of the way, allowing Yamashita to assist the widow in preparing a meal for them, charming her with his naïve chatter._

_That had been hours ago, and the storm had descended in force to howl around the confined quarters of the cabin. Then, Kenshin had watched Yamashita’s smile and wondered at his cheerful nature. Given his pale silence of the past few hours, it was hard to fathom how the boy could go from one extreme to the other in such a short time._

_Now, he crouched with one hand pressed hard over the boy’s mouth, muffling the sudden wail as Yamashita fought his way up from obvious nightmare. The cabin was small, and he didn’t want their hosts to be woken. Only when he was sure that Yamashita was lucid did Kenshin remove his hand, drawing back to let the boy sit up._

_They sat there for a while in awkward silence._

_“I’m sorry,” Yamashita finally muttered, voice soft._

_“Don’t worry about it.”_

_“No, that’s—“ He paused, and then took a deep breath. Painfully, he added, “I’m doing the wrong thing again. Saito-san will be laughing at me so hard by now.”_

_Privately, Kenshin wondered how well Yamashita knew his own commanding officer. A humorous thought that faded quickly; he shifted his gaze away into the darkness, kept his expression unreadable, and waited to see if the boy would continue._

_“I’m sorry,” Yamashita repeated miserably. “I’m really very—“_

_“Tsuji-san.”_

_He tried not to wince at the haunted expression that swung to look in his direction. In the dark of the early hours, Yamashita’s eyes seemed impossibly wide and dazed. Kenshin gave a weary sigh. He was familiar, at least, with the mood that could overtake a person after a bad dream._

_Even so, he struggled with the words, trying to find a gentle way to broach the subject. In the end, he was quietly blunt. “Why are you running?”_

_Yamashita was quiet for a long time. When finally his lips moved, his response was so soft that it was drowned out by the howl of the wind outside. After a moment, he repeated himself, words barely audible._

_“… killed. I … I’m stupid, I was just stupid. I wasn’t …” His mouth thinned. “I was too naïve and I believed the wrong things. The wrong people. Saito-san … was right. But,” he added in a low voice, “To make me watch was too much--”_

_“Start from the beginning,” Kenshin advised gently._

_It took several false starts, but in the end the boy’s buried hurt and anger surfaced. By the time the wind began to die outside, Yamashita had poured out the tale of the woman he’d fallen love with only to find that she was one of Satsuma’s spies. He had found out only when she was dragged in for_ questioning _; the emphasis on that one word told Kenshin all too well what had transpired after that. Yamashita told the story matter-of-factly, the intensity of his emotion visible only in the death grip he kept on his blanket and the rigid, iron set of his posture. His face was white._

_They had made him watch. Torn the girl’s lies apart before his eyes; broken her and then given her a coward’s execution, and Saito had forced him to witness it. Kenshin suspected what the wolf might have been thinking. Having Yamashita there to witness the entirety of events without interference set him apart from the woman and would go some way to preventing the Shogunate from tarring the boy with the same brush. Even so, to resort to such a harsh measure … surely, having him denounce her would have been enough?_

_He listened in silence, knowing now what Yamashita had tried to apologise for. The boy had not planned out some long betrayal of the Shinsengumi; he had merely been unable to cope with what had been done to him. Kenshin found he could not blame him at all._

_But by the same token, that meant that at the point Yamashita had decided to run, he would not have been trusted by his own squad. The likelihood that he could deliver on his promise of ‘useful information and assistance’ was small._

_Which meant Kenshin’s own presence here was based on a lie. And now, trapped in a cabin days away from anywhere, Yamashita had chosen in a fit of early morning guilt to confess.   Katsura had been lied to; this mission was a farce._

_Which meant there was nothing to stop Kenshin from walking away._

_He closed his eyes. Opened them to the sight of Yamashita’s deathly pale features, head bowed in acceptance of whatever judgment the hitokiri might feel necessary to hand down._

_In the end, he found there was only one decision he could make._

_\---------_

 

Darkness came early in winter.

The crackling fire masked the sound of returning footsteps. Nevertheless, Saito lifted his gaze to stare across the fire at the same moment that Kenshin stepped into the light. Two rabbits dangled loosely from fingers that looked blue with cold; he moved close to the fire, every movement jerked as if trying to control the shivering that was no doubt racking his frame. Neither of them were dressed for this. Packs and supplies they’d had in plenty and lost, no doubt fetched up somewhere much further downstream and ruined by the river. _Even so,_ Saito thought scornfully, _there is no point to pretending he is not cold._

He opened his mouth to say as much and then checked himself without quite knowing why. The hitokiri’s eyes were shadowed and dull, a far cry from the snapping, angry amber that had tried to burn through Saito at every opportunity earlier in the day. The hitokiri Battousai dispatched his enemies with deadly efficiency and that same, shuttered expression on his face. It was odd that Kenshin chose to come back to camp bearing that self-same look now.

Saito found he much preferred the anger. He gave a snort. “You took your time.”

Kenshin flicked a brief glance at him before turning his attention back to the fire, lifting his free hand to the warmth. He was silent, mouth twisting slightly as he stared into the flames. Saito wondered what he was thinking.   He also wondered, with no small amount of irritation, how long the man was going to stand there dangling two perfectly good rabbits in his grip instead of cooking them like any sane person would.

“There's a cabin, up by the pass,” Kenshin said at length. “We – Yamashita and I - saw it on the way to the bridge.”

  
“You _saw_ it.” Saito gave a sly smile. “I see.”

  
“If the weather turns on us, we won't have a chance as we are.” The hitokiri hesitated, his reluctance to continue clear in the way he tilted his head, turning a suddenly wary gaze on Saito.   “We should see if they can spare extra clothing or blankets...”

“Most of those who choose to live out here will have just enough for themselves,” Saito interrupted.   “Unless you happen to know differently?” The storm two days ago had been terrible, and the timing was right; if Kenshin had become as oddly protective of Tsuji Yamashita as Saito surmised, they would have done much more than just ‘see’ a cabin on the way past. No doubt the boy would have practically tugged on the hitokiri’s sleeve and begged for a roof over his head.

As the silence stretched, Saito permitted himself an annoyed sigh. “What do you take me for, Battousai? I'm not going to be unkind to a couple of farmers just because they sheltered two idiots from a storm.”

  
“I didn’t say you would,” he snapped.

  
“Of course you didn't.”

Kenshin was glaring at him. _Much_ better. Saito grinned lazily and merely sat there, arms resting on his knees as he waited for him to get over his affront and remember that neither of them had eaten in over a day.

Eventually, the hitokiri glanced down at his dangling hand and lifted it, displaying the two dead rabbits with a subdued look. “...I found food.”

  
He didn’t even try to keep the exasperation from his voice. “I noticed.”

Kenshin blinked, and then had the grace to look vaguely sheepish. In as much as a killer could, Saito supposed. Yet again, he wondered exactly how old the redhead was. He stood up with a scowl, holding a hand out. “Give them to me. You're no good to anyone half-frozen. Warm up before your brain completely freezes, idiot.”

He was rewarded with an insulted glare and merely smirked, plucking the rabbits from the hitokiri’s numb and frozen fingers. Kenshin let go of them easily enough, watching him suspiciously as he stalked back to his place by the fire, digging through their store of wood for something small and thin enough to suit for cooking.

Finally, the redhead sat down, quiet for long moments before he finally spoke in a stiff voice. “Thank you.”

Saito snorted in pure amusement. “Interesting sentiment. But don’t bother. I’m just hungry.”

He almost smiled at the predictable lack of response. Kenshin curled up like a cat, warming himself by the fire, flat gaze on Saito the entire time as he prepared the rabbits for roasting. It was almost as if the hitokiri suspected that if not watched, Saito would somehow manage to poison his portion of the meat. He didn’t know whether to be amused or insulted.

After that, he didn’t bother continuing the conversation. They ate, they slept.

By morning, it had begun to snow.

 


End file.
